


The Heir: A Family Chronicle

by DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis



Category: The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Family Secrets, Gen, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4045801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis/pseuds/DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story concerns Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis, taking place in an AU Zubrowka where Dmitri successfully plots and covers up the murder of Mme. Celine Desgoffe-und-Taxis, subsequently ushering the Lutz Blitz of 1932 (that part stays just as in the film).</p><p>After a successful invasion of Zubrowka by the emerging Zig-Zag Division-backed fascist regime, Dmitri appears set to take greater prominence in political affairs. Knowing what is expected of him as a blue-blood and heir, he immediately seeks to arrange a marriage, in an attempt to cement his place as leader of the new regime (this by appealing to public opinion and siring an heir of his own).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heir: A Family Chronicle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adelheid_Desgoffe_Taxis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelheid_Desgoffe_Taxis/gifts).



It was the eve of Dmitri's thirty-sixth birthday, a snowy late November day in the Alpine Sudetenwaltz country of Zubrowka. 

Just one month prior, he had successfully carried out the plot to murder his mother, seeing the fallen old dame's previously held assets transfer into his possession. 

Other than a short-lived attempt on one of her lovers' part to subvert his machinations, Dmitri's usurping of the ancestral Desgoffe-und-Taxis fortune went mostly unchallenged (namely due to the fact everyone who dared to do so died under 'mysterious' circumstances). 

Be that as it was, there was still one small snag in his master plan—Dmitri, an umarried bachelor, had no present heir to transfer his fortune to upon his death.

It was written within the unspoken rules of the aristocracy that he be responsible for siring at least one heir, and that only someone of aristocratic lineage could conceive one for him, under the bind of marriage. 

Knowing well what was expected of him as he prepared to take his place as Zubrowka's imminent ruler, he insisted on finding a suitable mate at once, instructing Clotilde to find him any eligible recruits—his specifications being quite narrow. The girls in question had to be: young, beautiful, preferably blonde (this, however, was negotiable—he was a bit pressed for time, after all), and of noble blood. 

Once Clotilde gathered sufficient candidates, Dmitri would examine them individually, deciding whether they would prove suitable for the task—the honour—of bearing his heir. 

In three days' time, Clotilde managed to gather seven girls, arranging a meeting at Schloß Lutz the following week. 

The first of the girls to arrive was the nineteen year old blonde daughter of a widow, a British national by the name of Felicity Mitford. 

The second was a French Marquise named Adelaide de Merteuil, a plain-looking woman of twenty-three whose family had emigrated to Zubrowka after the Lutz Blitz of 1932. 

The third girl to step into the Desgoffe-und-Taxis trophy room for inspection was an auburn-haired, freckled Ingrid Bosch, a seventeen year old half-Zubrowkan, half-Irish Baroness. 

The fourth girl was a sixteen year old silver-blonde Countess named Svetlana Romanoff, whose family had fled to Zubrowka after the Russian Revolution of 1917.

The fifth was by far the youngest, being only fifteen years old. She was Lina Bergersdorfer, the chestnut-haired cousin of Inspector Albert Henckels (the latter killed in the Lutz Blitz of November 17), a girl from a family of notable prestige among Zubrowkan aristocracy. 

The sixth arrival was the Zubrowkan daughter of a Lord, a mousy eighteen year old blonde named Agatha Riefenstahl. 

Last to arrive was a twenty year old Duchess named Cecile Briest, a well-known young socialite in Lutz, whose family sympathized with the emerging fascist regime.

Dmitri paced the trophy room as his select guests stepped into it, taking a careful look at the seven candidates before him. He led each of them (one by one) to the adjacent room, asking them to undress before briefly examining them. 

After the last uncomfortable girl had undergone his 'inspection,' Dmitri informed them they did not meet the qualifications he was searching for. Among them, he thought to himself as he turned his back on the lot, Svetlana was the only one he considered attractive, but her troublesome Russian origin would give his opponents too much to go on, despite her noble status. 

Sighing deeply, he gave Clotilde the order to escort them out of the castle, rubbing his temples with evident frustration. He did not care for the idea of marriage, needless to say, but if he /was/ going to marry, he wanted the girl who would be his bride to be the very finest in the land. 

Clotilde did as she was told, exiting the trophy room with each of the seven girls, whose families came to greet them. Noting the lack of enthusiasm with which each girl emerged from the room, it was immediately obvious they had been rejected—a fact which brought /them/ much relief, but duly disappointed their families. 

Once Clotilde returned, she was met with the sight of a sulking, dejected Dmitri. Ever the faithful servant, she wished to help him. Ever-resourceful, she had one relevant bit of knowledge he did not possess. 

“Sir, there might still be a way.” Clotilde spoke in a trembling voice, carefully keeping a safe distance between herself and Dmitri. 

Dmitri glanced up, his steely eyes locking with Clotilde's as she stood humbly before him. 

“What are you talking about?” Dmitri asked, visibly confused. 

“There is something you don't know.” Clotilde paused, unsure whether she should proceed. 

“Well, what is it!?” Dmitri snapped, impatient.

Clotilde sighed deeply, deciding she had passed the point of no return the moment she requested his attention. 

“You have a niece, my Lord.” Clotilde spoke, stoic. “She was delivered by your sister Marguerite, while you were /away/. Your mother ordered the staff to say nothing of it, but she is /your/ blood.” 

Indeed, fourteen years ago, whilst Dmitri fought in the trenches, Marguerite gave birth to a baby girl, the illegitimate product of her romance with a servant boy. Madame Desgoffe-und-Taxis had covered up the affair, allowing both Marguerite and the baby to remain in the household (the latter to be raised by the servants, as a servant, just like her father) on condition that Marguerite give up all rights to her child—a demand the latter had no choice but to comply with. 

“Take me to her.” Dmitri demanded after taking a moment to digest what he'd just been told, staring coldly at Clotilde.

Clotilde obliged, escorting Dmitri down the long, rickety staircase which led to the servants' quarters. She sent for the girl in question, who to this day had no idea of her true origins, the secret of her birth being kept beyond the moment of her grandmother's death.

From the servants' quarters emerged a comely raven-haired girl of fourteen, with sparkling blue eyes and a demure demeanour. 

“You called for me, Miss Clotilde?” Augustine asked, looking to her fellow servant, whom she considered almost like an older sister—the closest thing to family the girl had since her father's death. 

“Augustine.” Clotilde said, smiling politely as she looked upon the waif. “I want you to meet someone.” 

Dmitri said nothing, leering at the girl as Augustine's gaze flickered to him. His presence made her feel extremely uneasy—something she poorly attempted to hide. 

“Augustine, this is Count Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis, a member of the family we work for.” Clotilde explained, stepping out of the way so Dmitri could get a better look at the young girl. “He is also your uncle.” 

Dmitri smiled cordially at Augustine, looking sinister as ever as he approached her, in his mind attempting to appear friendly. “It's a pleasure to meet you, niece.” He uttered, reaching for her hand and bowing as he planted a sloppy, wet kiss on it.

“N-nice to meet you too, my Lord.” A visibly shocked Augustine manged to mumble in return, still reeling at the revelation she had an uncle. 

“You must be wondering why I have come for you, /my/ dear niece.” Dmitri said, sickly saccharine as he let go of her hand. “To put it simply, I've /come for you/.” 

Augustine's vexation was notable, though only one thing remained firmly cemented in her mind—if this man was her uncle, he /must/ know who her mother was. Perhaps, if she cooperated, she would finally get to meet the mother she dreamed of since she was a little girl toiling in servitude. 

“Y-you've come for me, uncle?” Augustine's pale blue eyes looked to Dmitri, who met them with his own cold, steel-grey gaze, from which no light could be seen.

“Yes. I have come here asking for your hand in marriage.” Dmitri minced no words, cutting to the chase. She was of noble blood, /his/ blood, yet (unlike most nobles) she was beautiful, unspoiled, and subservient—the perfect candidate for a bride.

“Augustine, your uncle wants what is best for you.” Clotilde intervened on Dmitri's behalf, being loyal firstly to the family for whom she worked, of which he was now the head. “He has come to save you from a life of working your fingers to the bone. If you marry him, you will be a Countess—you will have to worry for nothing in life henceforth, dear.” 

Clotilde said this mostly out of duty to Dmitri, though a small part of her hoped Augustine could find some happiness with him, and be close with her mother—even if it was as Dmitri's wife. 

Augustine held no desire to marry the lanky Count she just met, whose presence made her skin crawl, but she wished to heed Clotilde's advice. Clotilde was, after all, like a sister to her. 

He could not be so bad if /she/ thought she could find happiness with him, Augustine thought in her naivete, looking to her newfound uncle and nodding in agreement. 

And thus, the agreement was made—in two weeks' time, Augustine was to marry her uncle Dmitri.


End file.
